


rubberbands 'round your fingers

by ferrassie



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:56:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferrassie/pseuds/ferrassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He nods enthusiastically. “Right, right. Of course.” He stumbles for a moment, swinging Robin along with him. He only notices, now, the vodka-ice that’s come out of nowhere. “You met my friend Cesc, yet?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	rubberbands 'round your fingers

A drink gets tucked into his hand and the buttons on his coat are undone by someone, a girl. He directs his attention somewhere else, where even more people are crowded. His scarf is slid out from around his neck and there’s a loud punch of shouting off in the corner. He fixes his sweater and brushes away the snowflakes that reached his skin.

“Van Persie’s finally out of his flat!” is yelled from the right side of the room, amidst voices he doesn’t know. He takes a sip of his drink, cutting out a path, and waves a hand in acknowledgement. _Whatever_. (Rum  & coke.) He doesn’t know where he’s going exactly; to find a wall to stand up against, maybe.

And, then, Nick factors into it. Clearly already a few gone (but he’s usually off grinning like that, anyways) and won’t shrug off when he gets his arm around Robin. He ducks his head, trying to avoid Nick’s mouth on his jaw. “I’m not your girlfriend, Bendtner.”

He nods enthusiastically. “Right, right. Of course.” He stumbles for a moment, swinging Robin along with him. He only notices, now, the vodka-ice that’s come out of nowhere. “You met my friend Cesc, yet?” Synapses firing off in the least sensible way possible. Nick careens them through a group of girls. Leering, of course.

Robin’s mouth twists up in amusement. What he says, either way, won’t matter. But: “No, Nick. I haven’t,” and he has to keep his glass from spilling when Nick tries to charge them back through whence they came. “I guess I’d like to meet him, then.” Laughing, laughing because that’s all there is to do.

Robin doesn’t know who Nick’s talking about when he’s unceremoniously left without him, tipsy and loud, on his arm. Until: “This guy, right here!” and clapping someone short and startled and, then, smiling on the shoulder. It’s fine when Nick does it, always. He thrusts him forward. “Robin, this is Cesc.”

He gives Cesc a tight smile, hand stuck out. “Oh, knock it off,” tipsy and loud to the left of him. Cesc laughs and wraps his arm (lightly) around Robin, careful of his half-empty. His smile is white and genuinely happy, like everyone Nick seems to know. Except himself, maybe.

“I’m Cesc, Robin.”

 

“Oh god, I’m…” he says, as his shoulder comes up against something. Another person. Robin’s coffee spills over their feet and everyone on the sidewalk just keeps walking past. “…sorry.” he looks up to find, to find Cesc looking up at _him_. Face red from the cold.

“Don’t worry about it…” he trails off in a too-similar way, “…Robin.” His whole face becomes light for just a quick moment before he finally realises that there’s coffee-and-milk sliding in drops off his shoes.

Robin pats his pockets. “I don’t have napkins or anything.” His hand tracing a natural path up to his hair. He finds the back of his skull. He tries to laugh, but it sounds everything like a sigh. He settles for, “Sorry.”

Cesc shakes his head. Hand to Robin’s shoulder. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” He brushes at a faint trace of coffee-milk. “Let me buy you another one,” added like it might be a suggestion. Maybe. His fingers tap one-two-three where they are.

Robin stumbles over his words, like, “I, uh…” before swallowing and saying, “Yeah.” Nodding along to be convincing because the way his throat just tightened up was not. He says it again, just to _convince_ himself. And, to see Cesc’s smile fit a little surer.

 

They have a date. Tonight.

He buttons up his shirt, fixing the collar until it lays flat. Cuffs rolled up to his elbows. And, then, he forces himself away from the mirror and out into a less-reflective area of his apartment. (Underside of his watchband a little slick with sweat.) Seven. Cesc said seven and saved his number and address into his phone. Robin wills himself to keep his coat off.

He startles, hands clapping together when his apartment buzzer goes off. He waits (one & two) before responding. He’s perfectly fine and collected. Robin can hear Cesc running up the stairs and down the hall. Feel it. Something flips in his chest with Cesc’s knock. He takes a deep breath. He’s fine.

The first thing Cesc does – and he’s in no way subtle about it, why would that matter, Robin? – is look him up and down. Perfectly normal. Robin’s eyes go wide and he mouth gets smaller and oh, no.

“I’m just going to…” and before Robin completely registers those words in that tone of voice, Cesc has him in a proper hug, face resting against his shoulder. Robin finds his hands moving to knot at the base of his spine. Cesc inhales. He could be imagining the softest brush of Cesc’s mouth _there_. Cesc pulls away from him. “Yeah, wow.” He nods. “You look good.”

Robin has no idea what to say, so he pulls on his coat and nudges Cesc into the hallway. Locking up. Cesc gives Robin this look (what?) and Robin does something he never does: he grabs hold of Cesc’s hand. Presses his thumb to his palm. A thank-you and hello of all sorts.

 

He takes the very corner of the couch. Knees pressed up against his chest. The opening credits start up and Cesc crawls away from the DVD player. Picking up a blanket on his way. Remote stuck in the waistband of his jeans. Robin moves over just that much more to give Cesc whatever room he needs, but.

Cesc presses himself against Robin’s side and tucks the blanket around both of them. Head on his shoulder. The remote stranded on the other side. Robin leans back.

 

He fumbles with the key to Cesc’s apartment and pockets it when he lets himself in. It’s quiet. All the blinds drawn, but the sun still tries to get in. He passes the clock in the kitchen on his way to Cesc’s bedroom. It tells him that it took twenty minutes to get here, that it’s after noon, and that Cesc is still asleep.

Splayed out on his stomach, actually. His hair sticks up and he’s loosely grasping a pillow. Robin toes off his shoes and lets himself lean up against the doorway. Taking in the way Cesc stays still and the way he sighs when he exhales. He drops his coat on the ground and does his best to carefully lie down beside Cesc, without waking him, even moving him.

He didn’t think Cesc noticed, but he turns his back to Robin and lazily reaches for him. Eyes closed. He curves around Cesc. Hand on his stomach. Breathing in the smell of his hair. Falling asleep in the same place as him.

 

He turns on the light, but Cesc pushes him away from the switch almost immediately. He thinks, distantly, that now isn’t the place, but. Cesc shuffles him up against the bathroom counter and kisses him flat on the mouth. Eyes still caught open. So, he closes them and anchors his hand (tightly) into Cesc’s hair and kisses back.

Robin feels Cesc smile and tucks his hands underneath his shirt (& two sweaters). All warm back and curved lines. They just have to get closer. When: “This is nice,” is mumbled where his neck and shoulder meet. Robin laughs. “So romantic.” (A friend’s bathroom, one Robin sure doesn’t know. Deal with it later.) He tips Cesc’s head back up to kiss him, just one more time.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll help you work on that.”

 

Maybe.

“Maybe. What do you mean: _well, maybe_ …” His eyebrows slant down and, yes, he’s angry. Arms twisted together. “You said you that you didn’t have anything, that you wanted to go,” and he turns away from Cesc because he’s not the only one who can be passive-aggressive.

Cesc slams the cupboard closed.

“Just drop it, Robin.” He rolls his shoulders back (under Robin’s own shirt, no less), but keeps his hand around the metal. “I don’t want to go.” The elastic band of his boxers. Across his back. Pyjamas slipped just a little. He picks up his coffee cup – empty – and walks out of the kitchen.

Robin doesn’t let go well enough. He follows after Cesc, after he’s already gone. Down the hall to his bedroom. Standing together, but apart in the space where there’s not a bed or a desk or clothes. “What? I told you just now, again, that I’m not coming.” He shifts the slightest ways away from Robin.

He balls up his fingers at his sides. (Tense & lax.) “I know, but _I’m_ going and…” Robin takes a deep breath. And. He moves quick into Cesc and kisses the rise of his cheek. Cesc’s face softens. “I just wanted to say goodbye, first.”

 

He blinks twice, slowly. Fuck. The bed – no, the floor – is hard underneath his back. Neck sore. Fuck. Spit dried across his jaw. The light hurts. A lot. Robin groans and rolls over (too fast & quick) onto his stomach. Fuck.

“You can come and claim him,” Robin hears. It’s the rough-low tilt of Nick’s voice. A flower-covered couch that he lifted off his ex-girlfriend is in Robin’s line of sight. So comfortable, apparently. But, Robin’s on the floor. Dying. With Cesc’s feet by his head.

The floor vibrates when Cesc drops down beside him and Robin’s hand goes to his stomach. Cesc’s goes to his forehead. He frowns. Nick’s shadow falls over them like his sideways smirk and, shut up, Bendtner. When Cesc moves his hand, Robin’s goes to that place. Shielding his eyes from combined sources of light just so he can _look_ at Cesc. He’s not happy.

Robin says as much.

And Nick, so helpful, adds: “I should think he wouldn’t be.”

Cesc cuts Nick a sharp look, returned in full with hands up and a wounded sense of ego. “No, I don’t really appreciate you going out with strange boys. And, I don’t appreciate you not letting me know. And, no, I don’t appreciate having to drive around, call around, only to find that you can barely keep your eyes open while laying on your back.” He flicks the side of Robin’s chin.

Nick laughs. “Seriously, Cesc?”

Robin groans and covers his eyes, other hand searching out for Cesc’s. If he’s going to die (nature- or partner-induced), he’s going to do it right. But, not before he says: “Of course, he is.”

Cesc squeezes his fingers. Right.

 

Well, oh god, it’s. Cesc tilts his hips down in just that way. Robin’s nails pull across his shoulderblades, all at once.

 

“What are you trying to show me?” Robin asks, letting Cesc pull him out onto the balcony. Traces of dirt, feathers, and spiderwebs (but, he has to squint to see them in the almost-dark). Cesc brings him up against the iron fencing, arms around his waist. “I’ve seen this view of the parking lot before. In the daytime, even.”

“Shut up,” Cesc mumbles into his back. Robin relaxes down from stock-still. “I don’t want to show you anything.” It settles over them. Robin with his wide eyes and _okay?_ and Cesc with his too-warm body and three days’ worth of stubble that Robin can feel through his shirt.

He twists his shoulders. “So…”

“Move in with me.”

A beat. His elbows push out at the junctures of Cesc’s, breaking his hold. Robin turns around to face him – just a half-step – and his hands settle (awkwardly) on his forearms. Cesc is blushing, face open before going decidedly more. Sure. “I want you to move in with me.”

Robin nods. Glimpsing the view of the parking lot beyond the ends of Cesc’s hair and the upward tilt of his mouth as he smiles. “Yeah.” Goes thoughtful. “I think we can work something out.” He secures his arms around Cesc. Closer together. Chin on his shoulder. “I’d like that, really. I’d have my clothes back.”

Cesc pushes his fingers into his kidney. “I’m in your life, now. Your clothes are my clothes.”

(He only lets out a little screech.)

 

The bed’s new. That’s the only thing that’s different and Robin wonders, well. How.


End file.
